


He Should Be So Lucky

by WrongRemedy



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Time, Freddie is a good friend but also mad annoying, Getting Together, M/M, Roger is prone to panic in unexpected situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 15:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18284927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongRemedy/pseuds/WrongRemedy
Summary: Soulmates!AU wherein your soulmate's name (usually) appears somewhere on your body when you first meet them. For Brian and Roger, this doesn't happen until two and a half years after they meet, when they're already in a band together.





	He Should Be So Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to stick to a timeline and some factual elements that resemble real life, but I'll be the first to admit that I'm probably fuzzy on details. This story is set in 1970, when Tim left Smile and Freddie joined up with Brian and Roger to form Queen. I'm not entirely certain at this point where the boys were actually living, though I know that Brian had finished his first degree and hadn't yet started working on his second, so for the purposes of this story I have Brian and Freddie living in their own small flats, and Roger coming to the end of his biology degree so still having a room at Polytechnic. Hopefully that's close enough to reality to satisfy.

They never do figure out why their bond didn't choose to reveal itself the very second they first get introduced to one another, but it's fairly obvious why it stays hidden for the next long while afterwards. Because as well as the two of them (and Tim) work together when it comes to playing music, Brian and Roger seem to always be in some kind of conflict with one another in every other aspect of their lives. It's well-known that even already-manifested bonds can't flourish in a contentious environment, and while it's less common for them to refuse to present at all until both parties reach some indescribable, ill-defined state of harmony, apparently Roger is just one of those unlucky few whose bond feels like it comes out of left field and knocks him flat on his ass because it turns out to be with someone he's known for two and a half bloody years, rather than at the first meeting with a stranger that most people experience.

It happens the night that Tim tells them he's quitting Smile to join fucking _Humpy Bong_ , which Roger still cannot believe is a real name that someone decided to use for their band, let alone the name of the band that their lead singer and bassist chose to leave them for, but whatever. Either way, Tim leaves Brian's flat that evening and something cosmic and fundamental must shift between them, because rather than the emotional blowup of misplaced anger that would have been characteristic for them up to this point, they instead end up sat next to one another on Brian's tiny, ratty little couch, commiserating over beers and wondering what they're going to do now that their musical aspirations seem to have been dashed.

They're about three beers each into their misery when Roger says, quietly, “I don't want to stop playing, Bri” and even he can hear how his voice sounds so much more pathetic than it did just a few minutes before. Brian turns to face him, setting his beer down on the rickety coffee table in front of them and staring into Roger's eyes with a great deal more seriousness than Roger was expecting. “I know we haven't always got on,” Brian says (one whopping understatement, if you ask Roger), “but I _promise_ you, for as long as you want to play music together, I will find us a way.”

Brian doesn't break eye contact after he says it, and the fervor of his tone hangs in the air in a way that no positive words spoken between them ever have. Roger sits stunned for a few seconds, just looking back into Brian's face and feeling a new surge of affection that he's never experienced towards Brian before, and before his slightly alcohol-hazed mind can come up with any sort of response, he feels a deep, aching warmth spreading across the delicate skin of his right wrist. His (thankfully nearly empty) beer bottle drops from his hand at the sensation, and he gasps at the intensity of the not-quite-pain in his arm, noting with mounting panic that Brian is now wincing and has his hand pressed to a spot high up on his left side, like someone grasping at a hurt rib.

Part of Roger knows at that moment, even through the confusion and the beer, what has to be happening. In a way he feels instantly more sober and clear-headed thanks to the shock, but at the same time he feels about ten times more drunk than he should after three drinks, because he's suddenly very sure that he's going to sick up all over Brian's living room floor any second if the only possible explanation here ends up being true. Resigning himself to the fact that the only way to know for sure is to just man up and confirm it, Roger looks down at his arm just when the throbbing begins to subside, and sure enough, there it is: “Brian” written across his wrist in the same handwriting he's seen on lyric pages and astronomy notes for the past couple of years.

When he looks up, Brian's eyes are wide and locked onto the word as well, and Roger doesn't even think before he's shifting forward on the couch, catching the next button on Brian's already mostly-undone shirt and getting the rest of the damn thing undone so that he can push it away from Brian's chest enough to see his own first name inked onto Brian's torso in Roger's scrawling handwriting, just below his left pectoral and slightly off to the side, over his ribs. Both names are as clear as if they'd just gotten them freshly tattooed, and Roger's heart thuds in his chest to the same pounding rhythm as the blinding headache he's just developed. The feeling of affection from earlier is gone, replaced by a feeling of overwhelming anxiety that's rising in his throat like bile.

“Rog,” Brian breathes, and it's too much even before he says anything further, so Roger heaves himself up off the couch and runs for the hills without even grabbing his jacket. He's already out on the sidewalk and heading into the night before Brian even makes it to the front door, calling out to ask him just how in the bloody hell he's planning to get back into his dorm without his keys. Roger doesn't stop or glance back, and (thank all the gods) Brian apparently decides against chasing him down the street.

He ends up at Freddie's front door without having to think about it. Between Tim leaving the band and finding out Brian is his soulmate, there isn't anyone else in the world he could have even considered going to. Freddie answers the door after a few minutes of incessant knocking wherein Roger is more than half-worried that he isn't home at all, and he only takes one look at Roger before making a little _tsk_ sound and stating bluntly, “I'm not sure what happened to you tonight, darling, but you're lucky you've come to me.”

Instead of offering an explanation, Roger needles Freddie into accepting “I'm exhausted, Fred, can we please talk about it tomorrow?” and passes out in Freddie's bed with Freddie on the other side because who truly cares at this point. He hopes as he falls asleep that when he wakes up, this will all have been a horrible dream or some sort of drunken delusion, but a part of him knows that he could never be so lucky.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

Roger wakes up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and Freddie's favorite brand of cigarettes, and isn't even afforded the luxury of a few seconds of confusion or forgetfulness as the events of the previous night come crashing down on him the very second he regains consciousness. Freddie's bedroom door is stood wide open and he must have some sort of sixth sense because he comes bustling through less than a minute later, catching sight of Roger's open eyes and clapping his hands together.

“Ah,” he says, far too brightly for Roger's current mood. “Glad you're awake. Would you like eggs or toast for breakfast? All out of bacon, tragically. Need to get to the shop soon.”

Roger sits up warily as he watches Freddie start digging through his wardrobe, presumably trying to find an outfit to wear for the day.

“Toast will do, thanks,” he mumbles, and Freddie hums in acknowledgment as he pulls an extremely tight-looking shirt and a pair of bell bottoms from his dresser.

“Feel free to find yourself an outfit as well,” Freddie offers, already stripping down to change. Roger doesn't even blink. Being friends with Freddie has it's odd characteristics, one of which is the man's utter lack of boundaries. He's seen Freddie in every possible state of undress already, so this is nothing new. Roger climbs out of bed and picks through Freddie's things until he finds a larger, looser shirt and a pair of shorts, holding them up to a now fully-clothed Freddie for inspection.

“Alright?” he asks, and notes the second that Freddie's eyes move from the clothes in Roger's hands to the newly-acquired bond mark on his wrist. Dread settles in the pit of Roger's stomach like a weight as Freddie practically leaps across the room and grabs Roger's arm, pulling it up towards his face and inspecting the mark as if it's some kind of priceless artifact he just unearthed in the middle of the desert.

“Does this say what I think it says?” Freddie asks, running his fingers over the mark with a look of utter shock. Roger yanks his hand away, shifting the clothes so they drape over his arm and hide the mark entirely.

“I can't talk about it until I've gotten dressed and had something to eat,” Roger says stubbornly, prompting Freddie to roll his eyes.

“You're such a child sometimes,” Freddie chastises, and while scowling may just prove Freddie's point, Roger does it anyway. “Fine,” Freddie says. “I'll go make your toast while you put those clothes on, and then we are going to talk about this.”

“Fine,” Roger mumbles, heading for the door so he can use the loo and get changed in relative privacy, and maybe have at least a few extra minutes of solace before he has to have this discussion.

“Hurry back!” Freddie calls after him as they walk their separate directions.

“Shove off,” Roger returns as he slams the bathroom door closed.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

A change into Freddie's clothes, two pieces of toast, one cigarette stolen from Freddie and half a glass of orange juice later, Roger watches as Freddie sighs impatiently and taps the kitchen tabletop, giving Roger a pointed stare. Roger pushes his plate away and rubs his hands tiredly across his face, forced to admit that even he can't keep putting off this discussion any longer.

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Roger huffs, crossing his arms. “You saw the mark, you know what it means.”

Freddie rolls his eyes.

“Of course I know what it means, darling, but how did it happen? And when? And why did you come running over here when you could have been off shagging your new bondmate like a pair of rabbits?”

Roger wrinkles his nose at Freddie's wording, but he knows he's said just as bad if not worse before, so he lets the comment pass.

“Tim quit the band last night,” Roger says, and Freddie's mouth drops open in surprise. “And, well, Brian and I were moping around at his flat together, drinking like a couple of miserable sods without a bassist or a lead singer, and I said that I didn't want to stop playing music.” Roger pauses, and across the table, Freddie nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Well, when I said that, Brian got all serious all of a sudden and told me he wouldn't let that happen, and the next thing I know my wrist is blazing and he's clutching his ribs and there they were.”

Freddie blinks when Roger stops speaking, a beat of silence hanging in the air before he speaks.

“Alright so, I'll ask again. How did you end up coming to me? Why are you not laid up in Brian's bed right now having a smoke? What exactly am I missing here, darling?”

Roger knows he's looking at Freddie as though he's suddenly grown a second head, but the expression feels right. How can Freddie not understand how completely insane all of this is?

“I panicked!” Roger says, and Freddie looks about ready to start slamming his own head on the table before Roger even finishes the explanation. “I mean, it's Brian for fucks sake, it's not like I ever expected this! Why would the bond marks show up now? Why not two and a half bloody years ago when I first met him? We were alone then, we played together, and nothing. But now all of a sudden this happens? You know how the two of us are, it's not like you can put nearly three years of fighting aside in one night just because some stupid quirk of biology tells you you're meant for each other.”

By the time Roger finishes speaking, Freddie is giving him the look that clearly telegraphs when he thinks someone is being an absolute idiot. Roger hates that it's turned on him, and scowls in Freddie's direction in the face of it.

“If you ask me, love, I don't think it matters in the slightest _why_ the bond waited to reveal itself; only that it finally did. Why waste time questioning how these things work when you can simply go with them instead?”

Roger frowns and takes a drink of his juice, not liking how quickly Freddie's laid back attitude towards the situation is starting to make sense to him.

“Besides,” Freddie continues with a smirk, “it only makes sense that Brian would turn out to be your soulmate, Rog. Seeing as you're such a size queen anyway, eh?”

Roger nearly chokes on his juice, spluttering while Freddie laughs. Roger can feel the blush rising on his cheeks, which only makes Freddie laugh harder.

“We are _not_ talking about that right now,” Roger says, and Freddie waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“Does that mean we can talk about it later?” he asks. “I'd love to get the details once you two have, well...you know.”

“Fred, I mean it...” Roger says warningly. Freddie puts his hands up in surrender and Roger feels his irritation deflate a little. He opens his mouth to speak again, but the phone on Freddie's kitchen wall starts ringing at the very same moment, and Freddie excuses himself with a “one moment, darling” to answer it.

“Hello? Oh, Brian, how lovely to hear from you this morning, how are you, dear?”

Freddie glances over at Roger, twirling the phone cord around a finger like a teenage girl having a chat with her boyfriend. Roger mouths an adamant “no”, shaking his head to discourage Freddie from telling Brian that he's here. Of course, Freddie only shoots him a wink and continues speaking into the receiver.

“Yes, he came round to my place and spent the night, he's perfectly safe. I've even fed and clothed him, I'm practically like his mother.” Freddie says with a grin. Roger drops his head onto the table and prays for the ground to swallow him whole. “He's here now if you'd like to talk to him,” Freddie says, and Roger's head shoots up to fix him with a glare. “Yes, hang on just a moment,” Freddie finishes to Brian, and then holds the phone out in Roger's direction. “It's for you, love,” he says cheerfully, and Roger has never wanted to strangle him more even as he gets up and moves across the kitchen.

“I will get you for this,” he hisses to Freddie as he takes the phone from his hand. Freddie only kisses him on the cheek and walks over to clear their breakfast plates, humming a little tune as he goes. Roger takes a deep breath an finally brings the phone to his ear.

“Um,” he begins, unsure of what exactly he's supposed to say at a moment like this. “Hi? I promise I'm not dead.”

“Wonderful, I'll call off the missing persons report then,” Brian says from the other end of the line, and Roger feels a smile start to tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself.

“Yeah, I'm, uh. I'm sorry for running off like that last night, I just. I didn't know what else to do, you know. It was...kind of a lot to take in, you have to admit.”

“That's an understatement, I would think,” Brian says, and Roger bites his lip, fighting back against the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. He's not even sure why his body wants to start crying, and he's not going to let it happen without a fight just because of how tired Brian sounds. “Look, Rog, it's your right to deal with this however you need to, but I really do think we should at least talk about it, you know, face to face.”

As much as the thought of seeing Brian again kicks his anxiety into high gear, Roger knows that he's right, and nods before realizing that they're on the phone and Brian can't actually see him.

“That would probably be for the best, yeah,” he agrees, knowing that the words don't sound particularly enthusiastic but not able to muster up a more positive tone.

“So you'll come back around to mine, then?” Brian asks, sounding a little more hopeful. Roger feels a small spark of that same feeling from last night in his chest, and his own voice sounds much less strained than before when he answers.

“I'll have to come pick my keys and jacket up sometime anyway,” he says with a small laugh. “Might as well have a chat about whatever the hell is happening here while I'm at it.”

Brian doesn't laugh, but somehow Roger feels like he appreciated the joke nonetheless.

“Right, I'll see you in a bit then,” Brian says, and Roger echoes “see you in a bit,” before hanging up the phone and leaning his head against the wall with a sigh. When he turns around, Freddie is sat back at the kitchen table, staring right at him as if he's been waiting for the conversation to end all along.

“You look like a creep right now, you know?” Roger asks him, but Freddie only grins, propping his chin on his hand.

“Be a dear and ask Brian how he feels about having me on as your new lead singer,” Freddie says. “We'll have to find someone else to play the bass, but surely there's someone in this godforsaken city who can play decently and won't get on all of our nerves.”

This time when Roger feels the tears well up, he doesn't do anything to stop them falling. Freddie is up and across the room in an instant, pulling him into a hug.

“Sorry,” Roger says, wiping his face and pulling away from the embrace after a moment. “I'll ask him, Fred, thank you.”

Freddie smiles. “No need to thank me, darling. I adore Tim but we all know I've been waiting for him to step aside for quite a while. Just make sure you wait until _after_ you and Brian have finished fucking to ask him. That way he'll be in an agreeable mood.”

That comment startles a loud laugh out of Roger, and Freddie beams at him as he starts to usher him towards the hall. Freddie waits not-so-patiently while Roger puts his shoes on, tapping his foot as if every second spent is a second wasted. When Roger is finally ready, Freddie all but pushes him out the front door.

“Now, get the hell out of my house and go get your man,” he says firmly. Roger turns at the doorstep to look back at Freddie, who shushes him with a finger over his mouth before he can say anything in response. “Nuh-uh,” Freddie says, eyes narrowing as he points down the street. “Move it.”

Roger rolls his eyes but does as instructed, not hearing Freddie's front door close until he's a little ways down the sidewalk and heading in the direction of Brian's flat. For all of Freddie's strangeness and drama, Roger thinks as he walks, he's glad to have him as a friend.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

By the time Roger gets back to Brian's flat, he's cold from only wearing Freddie's stupid shorts and t-shirt out, and itching for another cigarette or five to calm his nerves. His hands aren't exactly shaking when he knocks on the door, but it's a near thing. Roger tells himself it's more from the temperature than from anxiety, though he knows he's lying.

Brian answers after just a couple of knocks, almost like he was waiting close to the door after their phone call. He looks a little drained when the door swings open; paler than usual and with a slight slump to his shoulders that only appears when he's particularly tired or just caught up too much in his own thoughts. Roger realizes with a start that it's very possible that Brian didn't sleep the night before, either worrying about him or agonizing over the situation, and it makes him feel like an even bigger berk than before for running out the way he did. He gives Brian a tentative smile, hoping to break up some of the tension.

“Hi,” he says softly, shifting a bit in the doorway and wrapping his arms around himself either in defense or for warmth or both. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Brian murmurs, stepping back and holding the door ajar so that Roger can enter the flat and kick his shoes off. Brian closes the door and turns to face him, and Roger really doesn't know what to do. Luckily Brian saves him from having to come up with something.

“Let's just...” Brian says awkwardly, waving a hand towards the living room as he moves around Roger and in that general direction. Roger follows him into the room and then down onto the couch, leaving a small bit of space between them on the cushions. Brian pushes a hand through his hair, clearly nervous, and Roger fiddles with the hem of his borrowed t-shirt, feeling much the same.

“What are we going to do?” Roger blurts at exactly the same time that Brian says “So I think that we should-”

The overlap has them both laughing and some of the tension clears, leaving Roger looking across the couch at a fond-looking, soft-eyed Brian; a sight that makes something in the vicinity of his heart squeeze. Roger tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and bites his lip.

“Freddie says that we shouldn't waste time worrying about why the bond took so long,” he says, carefully watching Brian's expression. “He says all that matters is that it finally did show up and we should just go from here.”

“Oh, is that what Fred says?” Brian says drily, making Roger chuckle again.

“Well, he also said he can't understand why I showed up at his place rather than just going to bed with you, and that it makes sense that you'd be my soulmate because-” Roger cuts himself off abruptly, cheeks flushing when he realizes what exactly he was about to say in his rambling. Brian arches an eyebrow at the sudden stop, and Roger can't believe he nearly let slip that particular comment from Freddie. “Uhh, never mind,” he says quickly, and Brian seems to consider pushing for an explanation for a moment before he finally shakes his head and reaches over to grab one of Roger's hands in both of his. Roger's eyes drop to their hands, but he doesn't move away or ask Brian to. It's actually very nice, if he's being honest.

“Look, Rog. Neither of us were expecting this, and I understand if, given our history, you'd rather just try to ignore the bond and continue on as mates. Or, well, hopefully slightly better mates than before. Even if we're not going to be bonded, I'm not sure I like the idea of fighting with you all the time now that we know.” Brian takes a deep breath before he continues, and Roger finds himself squeezing Brian's hand in encouragement. “I did a lot of thinking about it last night,” Brian says, looking into Roger's eyes. “And if you'd be alright with it, I think I'd like to give this a go. Clearly there's meant to be something between us, and I'd like to try and see what that is.” Brian ducks his head then, looking up at Roger through lowered eyes. “If you'll have me, that is.”

Part of Roger's mind is still swirling with questions and panic, but a bigger part wants to do anything he can to reassure Brian. He barely thinks on it for a second before he's leaning forward into Brian's space, pressing their lips together in what is admittedly not the greatest kiss of all time, but which he still hopes gets his point across.

For his part, Brian only remains still for a fraction of a second before he settles a hand on the back of Roger's neck, sliding beneath his long hair to grasp at bare skin as he angles both of their faces to deepen the kiss. Roger feels a shudder go through his entire body from head to toe, and when they pull away both of them are breathing heavily, eyes blown wide with a mixture of lust and surprise.

“Bedroom?” Roger asks, voice already huskier, and Brian nods almost frantically but then stops Roger with a hand on his wrist when Roger stands up from the couch.

“Wait, Rog, are you sure?” Brian asks, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “If we do this and then you decide you don't want to go forward with the bond...I'm not sure I can handle it,” Brian admits quietly, and Roger feels a pang of equal parts sympathy and frustration go through him, which he solves by leaning down and grabbing Brian's face in both hands, kissing him again with all the feeling he can muster.

“I am absolutely terrified of where this is going to go,” Roger says when he pulls away, only moving far enough to look Brian in the eyes, a fraction of an inch between their faces. “But that doesn't mean I don't want to find out. I'm done running, Bri.”

Brian lets out a sigh of relief, and Roger gives him another peck on the lips, reaching for Brian's hand as he stands back up again, this time pulling Brian up with him.

“Now,” Roger says, starting to walk backwards through the living room and towards the door to Brian's bedroom. “I think I'm more than ready to take Freddie's suggestion, aren't you?”

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ 

In the end, Roger isn't really sure why he spent so much time and energy worrying over it all anyway.

They rid each other of their clothes with both shyness and surety, knowing that they both want it but also keeping in mind how fragile something like this is at the beginning. Roger worries briefly that he's going to feel awkward once they've both stripped down, or, alternatively, that he's going to somehow forget that it's Brian once they get started, which he doesn't want to do because it's a dick move and Brian deserves better.

As Brian settles on top of him, all long limbs and heat, though, he realizes all his fears were for nothing. They fit together in a way that Roger could never have guessed at if the bond hadn't shown up and told him, and when Brian switches from just rubbing their cocks together to ghosting a hand over Roger's hip in question, Roger nods fervently and pushes his hand down more firmly, encouraging him to get on with it.

“Want it, Brian, c'mon,” he murmurs, no longer shocked at how much he means it. He does want Brian, he doesn't know why he ever worried that he might not.

Brian kisses him briefly on the forehead and leans away long enough to reach into his bedside drawer and pull out a bottle of lube and a condom, dropping the condom on the bed and popping the cap on the lube while Roger watches him intently, gaze torn between his long fingers and his rather sizable erection. Roger giggles then, not wanting to break the mood but also unable to stop himself when he hears Freddie's voice from earlier in his mind. Brian looks up at him as slicks his fingers, closing the bottle with a snap and shooting him a questioning little smile.

“What's funny?” Brian asks, one hand grabbing at a spare pillow while the other drops down between Roger's legs to circle around his hole. Roger tilts his hips up so that Brian can slide the pillow under him, and laughs again, shaking his head at how ridiculous it all is.

“Just, something Freddie said,” Roger says, and Brian shoots him an “alright?” and waits for his nod before he sinks two fingers at once into Roger's body. Roger gasps but pushes back against the stretch, loving it, and Brian's voice barely registers when he speaks again.

“What did Freddie say, exactly?” Brian asks, thrusting his fingers gently. “Must have been something good if you're still thinking about it now.”

“He said that it made sense that you'd be my soulmate because I'm such a size queen,” Roger admits, laughing again at the surprised look that draws from Brian. The laugh turns into a gasp and then a moan when Brian crooks his fingers, and he chases the feeling with his hips until Brian does it again, and again, giving Roger what he wants. “He was right,” Roger pants, getting close to the edge already just from Brian's fingers. Brian adds a third, and Roger nearly chokes. “Just your hands are going to get me there if you're not careful. God, who even let you have fingers this long?”

Brian smirks at that, sliding his fingers out of Roger and causing him to whine at the loss.

“Well, I suppose I should thank you both for the flattery,” Brian says, reaching for the condom packet. He opens and rolls the condom on before adding a bit of extra lube and throwing the bottle and the empty wrapper off the edge of the bed, Roger nearly laughing again at the usually-tidy Brian not caring about where those items land.

“Not flattery if it's true,” Roger retorts, groaning and tipping his head back into the pillow as Brian pushes into him. “Fuck, you're big.”

“You feel amazing,” Brian murmurs, dropping his head down to rest against Roger's as he bottoms out. They kiss as Brian starts to move, Roger's arms coming up to wrap around him, fingernails no doubt scoring marks into Brian's back. Brian doesn't seem to mind, setting up a rhythm and fucking into Roger so good that even if they weren't soulmates, Roger knows he'd be ruined for anybody else after this experience. Brian moves to wrap one hand around Roger's length, stroking him as he fucks him, and Roger feels himself approaching the edge again between Brian's hands and his cock.

“Bri, Brian, I-” Roger babbles, getting his hands in Brian's hair and tugging until he can make eye contact.

“You what, love?” Brian asks, breathing shallow and hips starting to stutter as he gets closer to his own climax.

“I want to get bonded. Officially,” Roger says, as clearly as he can. “I don't want to ignore this, Brian, we were made for each other.”

Brian blinks down at him, mouth open and wet and Roger thinks he's maybe the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“Fuck, Roger,” he manages, and then his hips snap forward and his grip on Roger's dick tightens and both of them fall over the edge nearly simultaneously, Roger crying out Brian's name and Brian muffling his own moans into a bite on Roger's shoulder.

Brian stays inside of him for a few minutes, blanketing him as he plants kisses across Roger's neck and collarbones, pulling out and sitting up on the bed when Roger mutters, “sensitive, Bri,” as the feeling starts to be too much. Brian takes the condom off and tosses it in the direction of the waste bin in the corner and then reaches down to the floor, coming back with the shirt he'd been wearing earlier. He uses the shirt to clean Roger's stomach and between his legs, dropping it back to the ground once he's finished.

“I can't believe how much of a mess you've been willing to make of your precious floor this evening,” Roger murmurs, amused. “You're usually so...”

“Fastidious and precise?” Brian asks, laying down next to Roger and pulling him close.

“Good lyric, that,” Roger notes, pressing himself against Brian's side and hooking a leg over one of Brian's. “But...yeah. I'm surprised you haven't left me here alone to tidy up.”

Brian leans down to kiss Roger soundly on the mouth, effectively silencing his musings about Brian's cleaning habits.

“I'll get to it later,” Brian mumbles against Roger's lips, a hand under his chin to tilt his face where Brian wants it. “This is much more important.”

Roger hums happily into the kiss, and when Brian breaks away to look into his eyes again, Roger actually pouts at the loss.

“Did you mean what you said about getting bonded?” Brian asks, eyes flicking over Roger's face anxiously. “I know it was in the heat of the moment, I won't hold you to it if you're not entirely sure, but-”

Roger places a hand over Brian's mouth to stop his rambling, only pulling it away after giving Brian a significant look of warning to not speak once it's removed. Brian complies, waiting patiently for Roger to talk even when his mouth is free again.

“I meant it,” Roger says, wrapping his arms around Brian as tight as he can. “You're already one of my best mates even if we've gotten on each other's nerves consistently. We know we make good music together, and just in case I didn't make it clear, that was the best shag of my life.” Brian smiles at that, blushing a bit. Roger shoots him a wink in response. “All that to say...yes, Brian, I want to be officially bonded.” Repeating Brian's own words from earlier, Roger finishes, “If you'll have me,” and Brian pulls him in for a kiss so intense that Roger ends up entirely laid out on top of him in the process.

They lay like that for a while, still kissing, and Roger is just starting to feel like he might be ready for round two when they're startled by the ringing of the phone in the living room.

“Don't answer it,” Roger mutters, just starting to rut against Brian a little to get some friction.

“I have to, Rog, what if it's an emergency?” Brian says, placing his hands on Roger's hips to move him from his place on top of Brian and over to the other side of the bed. Roger pouts and grabs at any part of Brian he can reach as Brian climbs out of bed, picking up his underwear from the floor and pulling them back on as though whoever is on the other end of the phone is going to magically be able to tell that he's naked just from the sound of his voice.

“Briiii,” Roger whines, knowing he sounds like a petulant child but not caring in the slightest.

“I'll only be a second, love,” Brian reassures him, and Roger sits in the center of the bed with his arms crossed, pouting as he listens to Brian make his way into the living room and answer the phone.

“Hullo?” Brian's voice floats in from the other room, and Roger listens in because if it's not an emergency, he's bloody well going to kill whoever is on the other end of the line.

“Yes, he did come round,” Brian says, and Roger's brow furrows. “Yes, we talked it all out, it's all sorted now. _Fred_! Dear lord...yes, we went to bed. He did mention that you'd said that, yeah. I- no, he didn't ask me that. Hang on. Rog?”

Brian raises his voice on the last word, calling out to Roger in the other room. Roger, currently busy plotting whether it would be more effective revenge to cut Freddie's hair while he sleeps or burn half his wardrobe, shakes himself out of his fantasies to answer.

“What?” he yells back, knowing full well what Freddie is calling about but wanting to be difficult about it.

“Fred would like to know why you didn't ask me about him being our new lead singer if we've already finished shagging,” Brian calls, and Roger throws himself out of bed in an instant, stomping into the living room without a stitch of clothing and grabbing the phone out of Brian's hand, holding it out away from him as he looks at Brian.

“Would you like him to be our singer?” Roger asks impatiently. Brian looks a little gobsmacked, but manages to collect himself.

“I-I suppose that would be fine, yeah. I mean, if you'd like him to be.”

“Great,” Roger says, bringing the phone up to his ear. “Congratulations Fred, you're in,” he says into the receiver, cutting Freddie's joyful shout off with a “hush, you still have to find us a bassist.”

“Oh, I will, darling, don't you worry about that,” Freddie says from the other end of the line.

Roger eyes Brian standing next to him, looking tall and gorgeous in nothing but his underwear, his own eyes sweeping over Roger's body as well. Roger doesn't look away from Brian's face as he speaks into the phone again. “Oh and for the record, Fred, I hadn't asked him yet because we were working up for round two. Which I believe we'll be getting back to now, so don't you dare call again unless your house is on fire. Bye now.”

Freddie says something in response that Roger never hears, hanging up the phone without a second glance and starting to pull Brian back towards the bedroom again. Brian stops him after only a few steps and Roger starts to protest, until Brian reaches back and unplugs the phone entirely.

“That should do it, I would think,” Brian says with a grin, and Roger thinks for the first time in the last 24 hours that maybe his luck isn't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me hollering about Queen/Maylor/Brian's hands on tumblr @somethingsoinviting


End file.
